


The Comfort Zone

by My_Trex_has_fleas



Series: Land and Sea [18]
Category: Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV)
Genre: Bodily Functions, Boys being gross, Established Relationship, I am so sorry, M/M, No Boundaries - Freeform, Not My Fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/pseuds/My_Trex_has_fleas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little ficlet about just how comfortable Jim and Ross become with each other while they are living together.</p><p>If you in any way believe that established relationships are the fairytale cuteness you see on TV, you really may not want to read this. Yes, it does contain farting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comfort Zone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [call_me_Sil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_Sil/gifts).



> THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!!!!! THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT!!! *glares at call_me_Sil*

One of the things Ross really liked about being gay (all the anal sex not excepting) and the fact that Jim was also a bloke and that they were both in the military, was the ease with which they had navigated most taboo topics. 

The army and the navy did not lend themselves much to privacy, that much was certain. So with that in mind, most bodily functions were not even considered an issue. Ross certainly got used to Jim’s predilection for wandering around with no clothes on (‘It’s hot on ships, okay?’) just as Jim got used to the fact that Ross commandeered the bathroom for half an hour every morning, although he did like to make exaggerated choking noises if he had to go in anytime soon afterwards. Ross, never one to take anything like that lying down, responded in kind by lurking outside the bathroom door and spraying him with air freshener when he came out (After far longer than he ever took, Ross noted. Jim was a reader.) and then running away cackling madly. 

The noises came later, after what Jim laughingly referred to as their ‘conspiracy of silence’ during which they both tried to behave as if they actually did have a modicum of decorum. But then they got comfortable with each other and then it just descended into madness. 

Which led them to what was now termed the ‘War of Attrition’. It started a few days after they started sharing a bed.

‘Jesus Christ, Ross!’ Jim rolled over to his side of the bed (they’d been cuddling, something Ross couldn’t get enough of now that Jim was back in his bed and, more importantly, back in his arms). ‘They could fucking use you as chemical warfare.’ Ross, in the fine tradition of all-boy boarding schools everywhere, equated flatulence with the finest comedic traditions and laughed himself stupid while Jim pretended to be asphyxiating.

‘At least you can fucking hear mine coming.’ he snickered. ‘You are like a fucking ninja when it comes to farting.’ 

‘At least I have the decency to not fart on you.’ Jim pointed out, waving a pillow around dramatically. ‘Not like last night.’

‘I said I was sorry.’ Ross was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘Ha!’ Jim flopped back down with a face like a French martyr. ‘I know you fucking do it on purpose. You’re a fucking adolescent.’ It was at that point that Ross realised he had no choice but to press his point home, which he did by rolling on top of Jim and holding him down while he farted on him. 

Repeatedly.

There were other gloriously embarrassing things too. Like the first time they both drank so much Ross had to spend an hour in the bathroom throwing up. That was week after the Warleggan incident, and Jim had made lasagne. Ross had thought it a good idea to get chianti from the corner shop (buy two get one free) and they had proceed to drink all three. 

Jim, the bloody bastard, managed to keep both wine and lasagne down. But then he hadn’t been quite so keen on deep-throating the hell out of his boyfriend, as Ross had been determined to do. It had gone horribly wrong and then Ross had barely made it to the bathroom in time. He had, most fortunately, been naked at the time and so easily washed off. It hadn’t helped that Jim had sat on the closed toilet, also naked, and laughed his head off at him while he shivered in the bottom of the shower, water pouring down on him as he intermittently retched down the drain. 

He had been more than happy to get his own back the next morning when Jim had a hangover the size of Brazil. His usual remedy was to avoid food all together and sit in a quiet room, nursing a glass of flat cola. Ross, who was fighting fit as he had purged all the alcohol from his system the night before, took revenge with a cunning plan that consisted of fried eggs and toast. The moment that Ross presented his beloved with breakfast had been the only time Ross had ever seen Jim go green. In his case he only made it as far as the black bin outside the back door, vomiting noisily with his head stuck halfway down. When he came back, he’d looked like he was about to die so Ross commiserated by noisily banging pots together until Jim retreated back upstairs muttering profanities.

It wasn’t all just bodily noises and functions though. Ross learned other things about his pernickety blond sailor, like the fact that Jim flossed with a fervour that was almost religious, and in a manner so methodical that Ross was spellbound.

‘For fuck’s sake.’ Jim said, lowering the floss and glaring at him. ‘I’m not a fucking zoo animal.’

‘You say ‘fuck’ a lot.’ Ross said, still eyeing him intently. Jim snorted and left the living room to floss in peace.

Then there was the cola lips fiasco. Ross wasn’t even aware of what he did until he’d noticed Jim giving him an adoring look over breakfast. 

‘What?’ he’d demanded as soon as he was able to swallow without choking himself to death.

‘Nothing.’ Jim was smiling, dimples on parade. ‘I just can’t believe a grown man drinks cola for breakfast.’

‘It’s because I am a grown man that I do.’ Ross had countered, taking another gulp. He didn’t deal in sips, except for hot beverages. He had been momentarily confused by Jim’s chuckle, and then completely thrown by Jim abandoning his breakfast and nearly tackling him to the floor. Twenty minutes and two very messy handjobs later, Jim had confessed.

‘It’s your fucking mouth.’ he’d said, still lying panting on the floor, sweats down around his knees and cum all over his stomach. ‘I am ridiculously obsessed with it.’ Ross, who was lying flat out next to him in much the same state, had frowned. When Jim saw that he was still in the dark he’d laughed and ran the thumb of his clean hand along Ross’ lower lip. ‘You do this thing when you drink cola. Nothing else, just the bloody cola. It’s kind of like a chipmunk storage thing and your lips go all kind of cute and then I just want to stick my cock in your mouth.’ 

‘Nice.’ Ross had said sarcastically, but he made a point of watching himself in the mirror that afternoon when Jim was at the shop to see what he meant. 

**********

And so they had continued in their short term domestic bliss. It was the last thing though that stuck with Ross the most. 

Jim was a Nutella fiend.

He didn’t just like it, he lived for it. Ross had even caught him eating the shit (Christ he hated it) out of a jar with a spoon on several occasions.

‘That’s disgusting.’ he said, watching as Jim spread it on his bread and then licked the residue off the knife he was using. He turned to Ross, blue-green eyes narrowed. 

‘Not a fucking word.’ he said. ‘I swear to God I will break up with you.’

‘Fine.’ Ross retorted. ‘Just keep it the fuck away from me.’ 

So how the fuck they ended up on the living room floor naked and with Ross covered in the fucking stuff while Jim went to town with his tongue, Christ only knew. Ross blamed the vodka, which had been deemed to be safer than the chianti, but that was before they started playing the Lord Of The Rings drinking game to go with the movie marathon that Jim had decided they were taking part in that evening. It had seemed a good idea at the time.

It wasn’t.

For one thing, they discovered that even Jim had his limits when it came to Nutella. Secondly, while it smelled delicious (at least to Jim) it looked like shit. Literally. Thirdly, and most importantly, they discovered that Nutella and body hair did not make for a very harmonious combination. And Ross was, to put it mildly, hairy as fuck.

‘You motherfucker.’ Ross muttered at Jim the next morning as they stood in the shower together attempting to get him cleaned up. Jim had the grace to look sheepish.

‘I think we might need to shave you.’ he said, trying to pick off the dried Nutella with a fingernail. Ross had given him the filthiest look he could muster and then pointed at the bathroom door.

‘Get the fuck out.’ he hissed. Jim retreated, trying very hard not to look like he was actually desperately holding in the giggles.

It had taken an hour to get it all off. And when Ross had come downstairs it was to Jim throwing a tantrum because he’d run out of Nutella. Oh the irony.

That had been two weeks before they had gone to Rose’s cottage. But then something very strange had happened. 

Rose made Jim Nutella on toast almost every morning, when she was at the cottage. And she also told Ross that the Nutella thing was something that Jim had got from Rob, who had been similarly afflicted. 

So he’d started to let the Nutella thing slide, and even allowed Jim to kiss him after he’d been eating it. And that was the path to destruction. Ross got used to it after a week. After two, the chocolately hazelnutty sweetness of Jim’s mouth became something that Ross even looked forward to. 

So much so that when Jim left, Ross actually found himself missing it. Rose didn’t eat it and neither did he, so there was no call for it to be in the house and Jim had pretty much licked the jar clean before he left (and hadn’t the sight of his boyfriend licking out the lid with that perfectly pink tongue of his just given Ross the most delicious ideas).

There was nothing for it.

So, to his great shame, Ross had had to resort to buying his own jar. He waited until Rose wasn’t around, worried about the sentimental repercussions the almost ceremonial opening would have. 

All he could say was, thank fuck he did.

He was expecting to get misty eyed, sad, maybe a little teary in his remembrance of Jim at the associated scent. But when he opened the jar and breathed in the rich sweet smell, he got none of those things.

What he got was a raging hard-on.

Ross stared down at his offending cock in disgust.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ he said. 

Needless to say, the Nutella went to the back of the cupboard, and only resurfaced when Jim got back.

Ross could only conclude from the whole sorry mess that it was indeed true love.


End file.
